“I just want you to be happy, Mamma. I knew how much you’d been looking forward to this. If this wedding made everyone I cared about happy, then it was worth it,” I told her.
She frowned, her fingers finding the lapel of my jacket with a lingering touch.
“I am only happy if you are, my son. Always remember that,” she said, her gaze fiercely protective. “Don’t marry for the family, or for the Dons. Marry forlove. Life is too short to wake up next to a stranger, even one as lovely as Nina. Love is the only worthwhile experience in this world.” She reached up and cupped my cheek, her hand warm on my skin. “You are the best of us, Damiano. You have a heart that this life will try to turn to stone. Don’t let that happen. Promise me.”
Her words hung in the air, and for a short time, it felt as if a kitten was trying to scratch that annoying beating thing inside my chest. It didn’t really hurt, but there was a dull pain that I couldn’t seem to ease.
“I promise, Mamma,” I said, feeling a rare moment of uncertainty about this wedding.
She smiled again and hugged me. She smelled of vanilla and that bottle of wine she had almost finished with Nina.
“I love you, son,” she said.
“Of course you do, I’m your favorite son,” I grinned.
“Don’t let Enzo hear,” she laughed.
She was my home, the one person who saw me for who I was and not the executioner my father raised. Everything I did—agreeing to this merger, taking on the heavy lifting for my father—was to ensure she never had to see the ugliness of our world up close. I wanted to keep her in this bubble of silk dresses forever.
I opened the door of the lead SUV, my other hand still resting on her shoulder.
The first shot sounded like a tire blew out, sharp and loud against the stone buildings of the narrow street.
Then the next one came, tearing through my shoulder, spinning me like a top. The pain was a numbing shock that sent me crashing into the pavement. I hit the ground knees and palm first, a trace of copper and dust coating my mouth.
“Get down! Amunninni, abbassativi!” Gio screamed, but the sound of his voice sounded as if it were coming from underwater. The air was suddenly filled with the cracks of rounds and the intense shouting of our guards as they returned fire.
I wrenched myself up, drawing my Beretta from my waistband, my vision tunneling. But as soon as I was up on my feet, another round caught me just below my collarbone, sending me falling backward. The air left my lungs in a painful, ragged wheeze, and everything turned slow motion.
In the midst of smoke and chaos, I frantically looked for her. I searched for the floral print of the dress she had been so proud of that morning, my heart beating in my ears.
I looked to my right, and that’s when I saw her.
She was ten feet away, lying on the pavement near the SUV’s rear tire. She looked like she had simply tripped, her hair splayed out on the concrete like a halo of silver-blonde, a dark hole in the center of her forehead. There was no struggle. No last words. No chance to tell her I loved her one last time—just a horrific silence.
“MAMMA!”
The scream tore my throat open. I tried to crawl toward her, my hands digging into the hot ground, my blood leaving a smeared trail on the ground, but I couldn’t move. I reached out my hand to her, but two guards, Gio and a man I didn’t see,grabbed me by the arms and dragged me backward toward the open door of the second vehicle.
“Lasciami!”I howled, kicking and bucking like an animal. My hands were outstretched, stretching toward her as the distance grew.
As they threw me onto the floor of the retreating SUV, I looked at my mother one last time through the open door. Far behind her, a man stood in the mouth of a dark alleyway. He wore the tactical gear of a professional assassin. A ragged scar ran from his ear to his jaw. I knew that face. I had seen him with the Castigliones before.
I watched until the car turned the corner, leaving my mother alone on the street like a discarded doll in the dust.
By the time we screeched into the villa’s driveway, the tires were smoking, and the doors were peppered with bullet holes. The door flew open before the SUV even came to a complete stop.
When I looked up, my father was there. He looked like an angry God. In his face was a terrifying stillness. Beside him, Lorenzo lunged towards me, his eyes filled with panic.
“Damiano!” he shouted as I tumbled out onto the ground. His hands were instantly stained red as he pressed them against my wounds.
“Stay with me, fratello. Damiano, look at me! Keep your eyes open!”
I looked at my father, who was standing over us, his shadow long and dark.
“They killed her,” I rasped, the words catching on the lump in my throat. I grabbed my father’s hand, my fingers leaving red streaks on his gold watch.“It was them. Castiglione.”
He didn’t scream. He didn’t cry either. He just looked at the guards, his eyes turning into two dark holes of endless rage that made the summer air feel like winter. He pulled his hand awayfrom mine, his voice subdued and vibrating, as he promised the end of the world.
